


lift me up, help me stand

by graveyardorgarden



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Depression, Gen, Slight spoilers up to season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveyardorgarden/pseuds/graveyardorgarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"it’s a slow and subtle process, yet she realises it almost immediately. every day it takes her a few seconds longer to get out of bed, it get’s a little bit harder to get into the shower and when she finally manages to, it takes her a few minutes longer before she can step out from the comforting, warm spray of water. every day she stands in front of her mirror, staring into the eyes of someone who she recognises lesser and lesser for each time."</p><p>Scully suffers from depression and Mulder worries. Basically.<br/>(the last chapter of this WILL be written and published..... eventually.... i'm just having a really hard time writing conversation but i'll figure something out. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first completed and published fanfic... ever. On top of that, English is not my first language and maybe that is enough excuse to say "please be kind, I'm a little fragile". (However all lowercase and an overflow of oxford commas is something I'd like to call artistic freedom.) 
> 
> I also just want to say that I don't have to much personal experience of depression, however I'm close to a few people that has been diagnosed. I hope this won't be terribly inaccurrate or in any way offending to sufferes. It's just a try to handle my own feelings for others and turning perspectives around. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. x

it’s a slow and subtle process, yet she realises it almost immediately. every day it takes her a few seconds longer to get out of bed, it get’s a little bit harder to get into the shower and when she finally manages to, it takes her a few minutes longer before she can step out from the comforting, warm spray of water. every day she stands in front of her mirror, staring into the eyes of someone who she recognises lesser and lesser for each time.

 

in the beginning she bothers with the makeup, warm tones to put her pale skin and blue eyes to life. she bothers with washing her hair every day, though slowly massaging shampoo into her scalp makes her hands feel more and more numb for each day. she bothers to drive by the deli to pick up lunch sandwiches on the way to work, until one crisp october morning when having to make the choice between tuna salad and a plain cheese one makes tears start burning at the back of her eyes.   
“actually, i think i’ll…” she mumbles and storms back out to her car.

 

the feeling however, is familiar, it has been there before. as a teenager, bouts of it that were usually passed away as something hormonal. except once, three months after her sixteenth birthday, when she came home, drunk and passed out in a police car and was later taken to hospital. it was blamed on her break up with matt, a guy with a lot of acne but a kind heart and a great record collection. she knew it wasn’t because of that, that the feeling had been growing in her chest for much longer than the two weeks without him, but she didn’t dare to tell anyone. instead she spent afternoons in a hidden corner of the town library, reading every self-help book she could find. and it helped, set her back on her feet, at least for a while.

 

the feeling had been there after her father died too, not as disastrously hopeless and not for long, but it had been there. she doesn’t know what got her out of it that time, possibly the work, the never ending string of cases that had taken her all across the country over the past few years. maybe it was because she still had the rest of them, her mom, bill and charlie, and most importantly, melissa. she guesses that was what had set her of this time, melissas death. they all had been mourning in the beginning. of course. but bill, charlie, even mom seemed to have gotten back to their lives and were making it just fine. so why didn’t it work the same way for her?

 

she still goes to the office every day, making it appear like she is getting somewhere with all the paperwork while in reality she doesn’t understand it. the letters form aggressive words and sentences that throw themselves at her, attacking her and keeps forcing her to excuse herself to the bathroom, where she hyperventilates for minutes before splashing cold water on her face, fixing her makeup and practising her smile in the mirror. she tries to ignore the surprised and worried glances her partner gives her upon returning and when he finally dares to ask her how she is, after the fifth round of her bathroom routine in two hours, she just answers “i’m fine”. they say goodbye in the garage a while after, he offers to take her to dinner but she declines.   
“i’m not very hungry. and i still have some work to do and…” she trails of. he looks, sad, hurt almost.   
“maybe lunch tomorrow?” she tries with a smile that’s so hard to fake it’s making her face muscles hurt.

 

the day after that she calls in sick.   
“this is agent scully, i have a migraine and won’t come into the office today. i hope to be back tomorrow” she says after the beep of skinner’s answering machine, trying to sound strong and confident, conceal the fact that five minutes ago she found tears rolling down her cheeks for no apparent reason.   
  
she almost doesn’t pick up when he calls her. she knows it’s him, who else would it be at this time of the day. he sounds worried.   
“are you sure you’re ok?”   
“yes mulder, it’s just a headache. i think i’ll be in tomorrow”  
“do you need anything? i can come by, i…”   
“no, i’m fine”

 

she knows she’s not. fine, that is. she spends half the day in bed, before she bothers to move and situate herself in front of the tv. after several episodes of some soap opera she barely even paid attention to she forces herself to the kitchen, where she swallows aspirin to see if it can reduce the pain in her chest. she opens her fridge, which is pretty empty these days, finds a small pot of yoghurt which she forces herself to eat in front of another episode of men cheating on their wives and wives getting their hair done.

 

she does make it to work the next day, after barely any sleep and an hour more than normal to get ready. the makeup doesn’t cover the dark circles under her eyes, nor the sad look in them. her hair is dirty, the red locks not as lively and flowing as they can be, but rather just hanging around her face with a melancholic vibe to them. “must be bad,” she mumbles to herself, “even my hair is sad looking”.

 

he takes her to lunch, she accepts even though she’s not hungry. she scans through the menu, this place used to be one of her favourites but now nothing seems appetizing. she settles for some pasta, to keep mulder from worrying. a side of green salad, water. the words gets stuck in her throat but the waiter nods, scrabbling shortened versions of her words down on his notepad. mulder goes for a hamburger. as usual. the smell of it when it arrives is enough to make her nauseated. the pasta and the salad suddenly seem far too overambitious. she tries her best with it, cutting it into pieces, taking small bites, trying to make it appear as if she’s eaten more than she has. when their time is running out she still has more than half of the food left on her plate. his worried eyes seek hers.   
“are you ok?” he asks for what feels like the millionth time.   
“yeah” she answers.  
  
not ‘i’m fine’. his words from the phone call the day before echoes in her head. “do you need anything?” sentences from well read self-help books comes back to her, ask for help, confide in your close friends and family, accept that you’re unwell and allow yourself to get better. she does not say ‘i’m fine’. a subtle hint that she’s not ok. at all.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't supposed to be chaptered at first but... it wanted to be written with a pause here, so i allowed it to be. i guess it will just consist of one or two more though... but who knows?


	2. Chapter 2

it goes on for weeks. and it doesn’t get better.

her days off due to “migraines” get more constant, as does the ache in her chest and the throbbing in her head. she’s lost a lot of weight and she knows it. her face looks constantly tired, her red hair has lost it’s shine and and her eyes have a weary haze in them. some days she tries to hide it, but not even expensive, high-end makeup products are good enough to cover this whole aura of gloom she constantly carries with her these days.

 

mulder notices and it’s obvious. he’s got a constant look of worry in his eyes as well, keeps asking how she is and she keeps answering the same thing. “yeah, i’m ok”. no more “i’m fine”. and however sad or crazy it sounds, it only takes them a few weeks to settle into this. she spends at least one day each week at home and when she does show up for work she barely gets anything done. somehow no one seems to notice. he must be covering for her, doing twice as much paperwork. it almost makes her happy when she thinks about it. almost. and just for a short while, before the thoughts wishing that he would actually _do something_ for her starts gnawing at the back of her mind.  

 

their new routine is suddenly interrupted by a case. in california. at first she sighs when she gets the news, but realises that maybe some sunshine and a change of environment will be good for her. it’s a thought she shares with her partner, however no one tells the other one about it. she packs her bags carefully. silky blouses folded on top of each other. underwear. her comfiest pyjama, in case she can’t make it out of the motel room. on top of it all, the useless makeup.

 

forty five minutes into the flight and she’s already regretting the whole ‘going on a case’ thing. forty five minutes into the flight and she’s in a claustrophobically small plane bathroom, throwing up the small amount of coffee she managed to drink at the airport. bile spills out of her mouth and she knows she’s already been gone long enough for mulder to start worrying. but the dry heaves won’t subside. there’s a careful knock on the door. a flight attendant with a steady but kind voice asking if she’s okay, if she needs anything.   
“can i have some water?” she croaks, her throat raw and her voice hoarse. a minute passes and there’s another knock. standing up to unlock the door makes her head spin. the flight attendant is older than she sounded, but her eyes are kind as she meets them with her own, sad ones. she hands over the bottle of water.   
“i hope you’ll feel better soon, ma’am” the attendant smiles and looks as if she knows. knows about the void in her chest that caused this sudden bout of sickness, that is the cause for all of this.

 

mulder looks worried out of his mind.   
“there you are! you look pale, how are you?”   
“i’m ok” she says, as always, “i just got a bit airsick… or maybe i ate something bad, i don’t know” she sits down and he carefully stokes her shoulder. she has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying, it’s been months since someone touched her in a way more intimate than a handshake.

 

the dry heaves return just in time for the landing. she retches into a paper bag without bringing anything but water up, while he holds her hair, murmuring comforting syllables into her ear. this time, she allow the tears to come. at first they are masked by her being sick, but as the heaves finally reduces, sobs and tremors take over her body instead. she just cries and he’s just holding her, quietly hushing and stroking her hair. she thanks god for the fact that they have the row of seats to themselves, because it takes a good fifteen minutes after the plane has reached the ground before she can stand up.

 

he doesn’t say anything until they’re in their rented car. it’s small and smells like old cigarette smoke and perfume. he’s driving, with her in the passenger seat, her empty eyes fixed on the road.   
“you know, you’ll have to talk about it, eventually” he softly says. she remains quiet.  
“and i just want you to know that… i’ll listen. i lost a sister too you know” he looks at her and she’s suddenly filled with anger   
“you were what, twelve? you barely even knew her. this is not the same” she snaps, voice sharp like a razor. then immediately, she regrets it. she sees his eyes, full of hurt, disappointment. this time, he’s the one who stays quiet. she tries to apologize, but the words won’t come out. instead, tears start rolling down her cheeks again.

 

they reach the motel over an hour later, still haven’t said a word.   
“i’ll go get the keys” he says, no empathy in his voice whatsoever. her eyes are red and puffy from crying. he just probably doesn’t want it to look bad, like he’s beat her, or they’ve been fighting. he’s not gone long. returns with two keys. connected rooms. he will hear her crying.   
“c’mon scully. i’ll take your bag” this time, his voice is slightly softer. he opens the car door for her, and she steps out on wobbly legs.

 

she sits down on the bed with a sigh. the room is shabby, the sheets feel thin and the air stale. he’s just about to enter his own room via the connecting door when she interrupts.   
“i….” she doesn’t get any further.   
“scully, it’s ok. i know how it is”  
“i didn’t mean what i said, i don’t know what got into me… i…”   
“listen, it’s ok. please, try to get some sleep. we’re meeting with the local police in three hours. i’ll wake you. we’ll talk about this tonight. ok?”   
“ok.”

 

except “tonight” never comes. the case is far more complicated than they anticipated, taking them all over the small town. she stays on her feet all day, but doesn’t say much. follows mulder around, tries her best to smile at the people they meet. he doesn’t order her to do much, thank god. on their way back to the motel, long after midnight, she falls asleep against his shoulder. when she wakes up again he is carrying her to her room. they exchange smiles, and for the first time in weeks the one coming from her is a genuine one.

 

the case keeps them busy for a few days. or rather, it keeps him busy. she mostly follows around, tries her best to make small talk with the local police. if she’s really honest, she doesn’t understand much of what’s going on. but her partner seems okay with that, doesn’t ask her for much help, just makes sure she’s okay every now and then, makes sure she’s eating on appropriate times.

  
she’s starting to think he’s forgotten about what he said. that he won’t bring it up again. that this, the only opportunity to make her feel better, will fall through to nothing. the case is finished but the drive to the airport is silent, except for the radio and him quietly humming along. when they get to the plane they’re keeping up shallow conversations, good enough to stop the sick feeling in her stomach to turn into something, but nothing else. she’s just about to completely give up hope when they enter his car in the parking lot of the d.c airport. but that’s when he says it.   
“how about i follow you home? we need to do something about this” his voice is quiet, soft. she nods.   
“i mean, i can’t keep doing twice the amount of work, now that i’m used to having you by my side” this time he has that tone in his voice that indicates he’s joking. for the first time in weeks. she smiles again, almost without effort.


End file.
